The Middleman: Rite of Passage (Wendy/Lacey/Noser, G, ~500w)
Wendy/Lacey/Noser, G, ~500w.
The morning after. "Count on the two of you to turn an act of sexual deviancy so overdone as to almost be passé and turn it into a commentary on bohemian lineage through the ages."
Rite of Passage
"So," Wendy said, staring at the ceiling, Noser and Lacey on either side of her on the bed. "Are we blaming this on the three bottles of mediocre-yet-suitably-cheap-so-as-not-to-cross-the-line-to-bourgeois white wine or some sort of pre-mid-life crisis that simultaneously inspired the three of us to broaden our sexual horizons in this wanton yet oddly organized fashion?"
"I vote for option C," Lacey said. She was wearing Noser's purple jacket and completely mismatched animal print underwear. "A spontaneous yet heartfelt -- and other extremities-felt -- outpouring of love and physical affection within the blessed confines of this illegal and color uncoordinated sublet."
"In five years' time we could be walking around the zoo," Noser said. He was wearing a pink toga and a crown of yellow flowers in his hair.
"Those elephants," Wendy agreed.
"Truth time, my friends," Lacey said, turning over on her side, resting one of her hands on Wendy's midriff. "The events that transpired between these plush secondhand blankets -- and on the faux fur throw rug, and in one half of the antique claw foot tub -- were the height of inevitability."
"We are young and photogenic," Wendy observed.
"And our hair was long when we first met," Noser added.
"But the history books will not forget about us," Lacey said, grinning and ruffling her fingers through the bright green feather boa around Wendy's neck.
"On the contrary," Noser said, turning on his side and fitting his thumb into the hollow of Wendy's hip, "if they burn the books our names will still be writ in smoke."
"Count on the two of you to turn an act of sexual deviancy so overdone as to almost be passé and turn it into a commentary on bohemian lineage through the ages."
"Did I just hear the word passé pass your lovely lips of licorice red?" Lacey said, tapping her index finger on Wendy's chin. "And not in reference to Pip's vomit-inducing molestations of the canvas and/or microphone?"
"Say it ain't so," Noser said, dropping a kiss just beneath Wendy's earlobe.
"I challenge you to prove me wrong," Wendy said, her tone jumping up an octave halfway through the sentence when Lacey's toes starting creeping up her calf.
"Hear that, Noser?" Lacey said, smiling in that hungry way of hers when she sensed the promise of confrontation on the horizon.
"My moves begin at classic, detour to smooth on the S-curve, and end at transgressive," he whispered into Wendy's ear, nibbling gently. "The bus does not stop at passé."
"Think about it, Dub Dub," Lacey said, her enunciation incisive and assertive as it became during the crescendo period of her best spoken word pieces, "we're at the forefront of the omnisexual paradigm shift. With each new configuration of our --" She took a second to count on her fingers, "twelve limbs, we are ushering in a new age."
"Of cheap wine and pre-mid-life crises?"
"Oh, Dub Dub," Lacey sighed, slotting her fingers into Wendy's ribs and laughing. "There's no one I'd rather paradigm shift with."
"Ditto," Noser said.
"As long as this whole 'omnisexuality' doesn't involve bringing toaster ovens into bed, I'll manage," Wendy said.
"Unfortunate," Noser said, "I have always thought that I would taste delicious melted over a thin Italian crust."
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The morning after. "Count on the two of you to turn an act of sexual deviancy so overdone as to almost be passé and turn it into a commentary on bohemian lineage through the ages."
Rite of Passage
"So," Wendy said, staring at the ceiling, Noser and Lacey on either side of her on the bed. "Are we blaming this on the three bottles of mediocre-yet-suitably-cheap-so-as-not-to-cross-the-line-to-bourgeois white wine or some sort of pre-mid-life crisis that simultaneously inspired the three of us to broaden our sexual horizons in this wanton yet oddly organized fashion?"
"I vote for option C," Lacey said. She was wearing Noser's purple jacket and completely mismatched animal print underwear. "A spontaneous yet heartfelt -- and other extremities-felt -- outpouring of love and physical affection within the blessed confines of this illegal and color uncoordinated sublet."
"In five years' time we could be walking around the zoo," Noser said. He was wearing a pink toga and a crown of yellow flowers in his hair.
"Those elephants," Wendy agreed.
"Truth time, my friends," Lacey said, turning over on her side, resting one of her hands on Wendy's midriff. "The events that transpired between these plush secondhand blankets -- and on the faux fur throw rug, and in one half of the antique claw foot tub -- were the height of inevitability."
"We are young and photogenic," Wendy observed.
"And our hair was long when we first met," Noser added.
"But the history books will not forget about us," Lacey said, grinning and ruffling her fingers through the bright green feather boa around Wendy's neck.
"On the contrary," Noser said, turning on his side and fitting his thumb into the hollow of Wendy's hip, "if they burn the books our names will still be writ in smoke."
"Count on the two of you to turn an act of sexual deviancy so overdone as to almost be passé and turn it into a commentary on bohemian lineage through the ages."
"Did I just hear the word passé pass your lovely lips of licorice red?" Lacey said, tapping her index finger on Wendy's chin. "And not in reference to Pip's vomit-inducing molestations of the canvas and/or microphone?"
"Say it ain't so," Noser said, dropping a kiss just beneath Wendy's earlobe.
"I challenge you to prove me wrong," Wendy said, her tone jumping up an octave halfway through the sentence when Lacey's toes starting creeping up her calf.
"Hear that, Noser?" Lacey said, smiling in that hungry way of hers when she sensed the promise of confrontation on the horizon.
"My moves begin at classic, detour to smooth on the S-curve, and end at transgressive," he whispered into Wendy's ear, nibbling gently. "The bus does not stop at passé."
"Think about it, Dub Dub," Lacey said, her enunciation incisive and assertive as it became during the crescendo period of her best spoken word pieces, "we're at the forefront of the omnisexual paradigm shift. With each new configuration of our --" She took a second to count on her fingers, "twelve limbs, we are ushering in a new age."
"Of cheap wine and pre-mid-life crises?"
"Oh, Dub Dub," Lacey sighed, slotting her fingers into Wendy's ribs and laughing. "There's no one I'd rather paradigm shift with."
"Ditto," Noser said.
"As long as this whole 'omnisexuality' doesn't involve bringing toaster ovens into bed, I'll manage," Wendy said.
"Unfortunate," Noser said, "I have always thought that I would taste delicious melted over a thin Italian crust."
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